


Salvage

by AuroraNova



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8156876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: Being an obstinate species, some Cardassians insisted on remaining, no matter that their planet was barely capable of supporting life and worsening by the day. Naturally Garak was one of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm supposed to be working on an original fiction but this idea lodged itself in my brain and stuck, so here we are. As always, I own nothing herein and make not a cent.

When Julian told Kira his plan she replied that since it was personal business he’d have to go on his day off. Then she authorized the use of a runabout.

There were 106,947 people left on Cardassia, the last stubborn remnants of the survivors. Cardassia Prime was quickly becoming uninhabitable in the aftermath of the Dominion assault and most of its residents had moved to other planets in the Union, well-established colonies being the popular choice.

As if the initial bombardment hadn’t caused enough death and destruction, the geological disruption caused a series of volcanoes, earthquakes and tsunamis which still, seven months later, hadn’t entirely stopped. The volcanoes combined with debris already in the atmosphere to cause a dense dust cloud, dropping the average temperature and wreaking havoc with what little agriculture remained. The eastern third of one continent was completely destroyed when matter-antimatter reactor containment fields were breached after an earthquake, and the ensuing lack of power hadn’t helped those who survived. In the aftermath of damage to an experimental weapon it was discovered that some five and a half million people absorbed radiation dosages which would be fatal within a year. There were also poisons being unleashed from ruined buildings and diseases spreading due to malnutrition and lack of sanitation.

The Federation had coordinated a relocation program, transporting Cardassians from their homeworld to fourteen of their former colonies. Being an obstinate species, however, some people insisted on remaining, no matter that their planet was barely capable of supporting life and worsening by the day.

Naturally Garak was one of them.

Julian waited impatiently while the computer cross-referenced Garak’s unique biosign with all Cardassian biosigns on the planet, starting with the capital and moving outward. It took the better part of an hour before he heard the chirp he wanted.

“Match found.”

He looked at the map, an area five hundred and twelve kilometers from the capital, and scanned the location. Particulates in the air weren’t especially healthy but short-term exposure wouldn’t be a problem. Odds were the water wasn’t safe to drink; Julian replicated a bottle before he set the coordinates to beam down.

The air was hazy with dust and so acrid he almost choked. Dear God, why would anyone want to stay here?

The neighborhood was still. Entirely too still, making it quite easy to identify the sound of someone working behind a building. The building was in poor repair but the struggling garden out front suggested somebody was trying to live there. Julian ventured around back and found Garak refilling some kind of water filtration device.

Garak had lost more weight than was healthy and grown out his hair a few centimeters, not to mention that on the station he would never have been seen in clothes so worn, but some things didn’t change. Without so much as a greeting he looked up and said, “I suppose you’ve come to rescue me from my self-destructive insistence on remaining.”

“You know me too well.”

“And you ought to know me well enough to realize you’re wasting your time.”

Julian pulled out his tricorder, frowned at the readings. “Garak, the air alone will kill you in six, eight years at the most.”

“We must all die someday, Doctor.”

“I realize Cardassia means more to you than I can comprehend…”

“Do you? Your arrival indicates otherwise.”

“…but Cardassia was never just about the planet, was it? It was also the people.”

“Surely your Federation news has reported that those of us who agitated for rebellion are not especially popular.”

“Yes. Misplaced anger.” The blame belonged to the Dominion, not the rebels. “Wait. Are you saying that you aren’t welcome elsewhere?”

“Nothing so official as that.” Garak changed his posture, relaxed slightly. “I simply don’t have the time or energy for an elaborate lie today, Doctor. Remaining here, allowing myself to be a target of anger so that people can begin to rebuild while feeling some sort of justice has been served… this is perhaps the only thing I can do for Cardassia now.”

Julian almost gasped at the level of honesty, but he managed to keep his voice even. “I’m not so certain of that.”

“I would expect nothing less from someone so optimistic.”

“You’re an excellent candidate for refugee status.” The Federation was taking in only a very limited number of refugees because with all the destruction of the war there weren’t resources to see to a large influx. That, at least, was the official explanation; Julian suspected the idea that Cardassians got what they deserved played a role in the decision as well. Nevertheless, Garak had worked with the Federation during the war and that alone should qualify him.

“That won’t help Cardassia or Cardassians,” said Garak.

“Perhaps not. However, there’s something you can do to help preserve your culture, to give future generations something they can be proud of.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“The Cultural Heritage Association recently announced plans for a significant effort to preserve Cardassian history, arts, and literature.”

Garak’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the mention of literature. “Oh?”

Encouraged by his interest, Julian continued, “Everything from archaeological salvage operations to recording oral histories.”

Garak tilted his head just so, an indication of disapproval. “I’m not certain archaeological salvage is the best use of resources to help Cardassians, unless of course they only care about our culture and not our lives.”

“Actually this is part of the Cultural Heritage Association’s protest. They want to demonstrate that Cardassians have a rich and vibrant society, you do matter, and people should view you as more than an enemy.”

“In that case I appreciate the sentiment at least. But for our culture to be ‘salvaged’ and interpreted entirely by the Federation is intolerable and more than a bit insulting. We are not extinct yet, Doctor.”

“No,” agreed Julian, “you aren’t.”

After a moment of consideration Garak said, “I have no training for an undertaking such as you have described.”

He knew he couldn’t convince Garak to leave Cardassia. If Garak truly wanted to stay on his homeworld and die, there was nothing Julian or anyone else could say that would change his mind. All he could do was provide his friend with an option, a useful contribution he could make for his people.

Garak didn’t deserve to stay here and die, but this wasn’t about what he deserved, Julian knew that much. It was about what Cardassia – or the Cardassian people at this point – needed. The only way Garak would leave the planet was if he believed he could do more for his people elsewhere.

Julian coughed in the foul air and wished they could have this conversation in the runabout. “So you think it’s better to let the team be composed entirely of Federation personnel?”

“A valid point, Doctor. If our children are to have pride in their heritage, there must be Cardassians involved in the project. My lack of formal qualifications is not ideal, but I at least can prevent the Federation from some of your more appalling misinterpretations of literature. I imagine you brought an application for refugee status?”

“Better. I talked Kira into giving you quarters on the station while your application is processed. The Cultural Heritage Association team is going to be based on DS9, by the way.”

“Sensible of the association, and generous of Colonel Kira.”

Kira had in fact been in a particularly good mood because Julian managed to save the unborn child of her friend, and Julian had decided he wasn’t above taking slight advantage if it saved Garak’s life. He also suspected Kira’s support was a way to honor Ziyal’s memory.

“You seem quite certain the Federation will accept me,” continued Garak.

“You helped us during the war, not to mention your application – it’s on the runabout, by the way – has a recommendation from two Starfleet officers.”

“Two?”

“Ezri.”

“I see I will have thanks to give.”

“You’ll have to write Ezri. She’s on the _Shran_ now.”

Garak gave him a knowing look. “I’m sorry, Doctor.”

Julian shrugged. The pain was still a bit fresh despite knowing this was for the best. “She’s where she needs to be, and I’m where I need to be.” He didn’t mention that he understood now why Trill disallowed reassociation. It wasn’t so terrible for friendships but it was disastrous for romance. Were they together because of Ezri, Dax, or Jadzia? Neither of them could say. It was better they ended the relationship while they could still manage a long-distance friendship. Which, slowly, they were figuring out.

If Garak had foreseen these difficulties all along – he wouldn’t have been the only one – he was kind enough not to show it. Instead he remarked, “Do you truly believe I the Cultural Heritage Association’s project will be of service to Cardassians, or are you merely using it as an excuse to lure me to perceived safety?”

“You’re a fine one to ask for truth.”

“I have already been uncommonly forthcoming once today.”

“Which can disguise so very many lies.”

“Lies contain truth, truth contains lies. But you already know that.”

Julian coughed again. “I know you believe that.”

“Now, Doctor, we both know that you are no stranger to the concept yourself.”

“Fine. You’ve made your point, everyone lies.”

“That was only part of my point,” objected Garak.

“To answer your question, yes, I do think this project will be valuable. Not immediately besides the intrinsic value of knowledge preservation, perhaps, but very much so in the long term. People will need more than having your homeworld bombed by the Dominion. Nobody wants their society defined solely by that.”

“I’m afraid it will define Cardassian society for quite some time.”

“That’s why you’ll need something else, something of which everyone can be proud.”

“Your natural optimism is coloring your ideas of the future again.”

“And your natural pessimism is coloring yours.”

“What you call pessimism I consider reality.”

“Has it occurred to you,” began Julian, offering an argument catered to Cardassian sensibilities, “that every statue pulled from the rubble, every recording of obscure music or scroll of ancient poetry that’s preserved is a victory over the Dominion?”

“Don’t you humans have a term for ruinous victories?”

“Pyrrhic victories, but that’s not the point.” It was far too late to save Cardassia as it had been. Geologists and ecologists felt that the planet would stabilize in a few generations and perhaps then people would return. In the present the most anyone could do was save what they could.

“I’ve heard some talk that we need a well-controlled time travel experiment to prevent this disaster from occurring. Mind you, I’m not convinced it would work.”

Garak’s evasiveness was a promising sign. If he weren’t at least entertaining the idea of leaving he would simply refuse; his conversational tangents were a play for time while he debated with himself.

“Reinforcements when you tried to destroy the Founders’ world?”

“You must admit I was right.”

Julian frowned. The act in question involved his own death, after all, and despite what some people thought he did have an instinct for self-preservation.

“Oh, not in terms of your Federation morality, Doctor, and not discounting the value of your life. I mean that it would have been best for Cardassia had I succeeded.”

“I’ll grant that.”

“However, not knowing about my endeavor, the speculation I heard centers mainly around traveling to the past and convincing our leaders not to ally with the Dominion. A formidable task, I can only assume.”

“You are a stubborn people, by and large.”

“That is not the entirety of the problem with time travel. One can never be certain of the consequences, though I daresay few outcomes would be worse for Cardassia than our present reality.”

Offhand, Julian could come up with four worse outcomes for Cardassia: complete destruction of the planet and everyone on it; a plague which killed every, or nearly every, Cardassian regardless of where they lived; suffering through the bombardment only to end up permanently subservient to the Dominion; and something akin to the present situation except under Gul Dukat’s control. It was probable that his personal feelings colored the final idea.

Aloud he remarked, “That’s not even delving into the grandfather paradox.”

“Such a peculiar term, and honestly I rank that very low among concerns related to this endeavor.”

“This entirely hypothetical endeavor.”

“I can’t speak with authority on that, Doctor. For all I know there are teams working on it as we speak.” Coming to his decision, he added, “Come inside while I gather a few items.”

So Garak had decided that he could still work for his people. Julian tried not to show his relief despite knowing Garak would see it anyway.

It felt as though half a kilo of dust had accumulated in his nose and throat already so he was happy to go inside. There it was dark and dusty, but not as dusty at least. He peered around what appeared to be a very rustic kitchen, complete with a cobbled-together woodstove.

A long drink of water refreshed him somewhat, and he offered the bottle to Garak, who took a few sips before selecting an empty crate and placing it on a rickety table. “I won’t be long,” he said, and disappeared.

Julian took the opportunity to look around the room more thoroughly. There were two windows, coated with dust despite evidence of a recent cleaning, one of them badly cracked and held together with a liberal amount of adhesive. Something that had once been a cooking stove, now useless without power, appeared to have been mined for parts. There was a hole in the roof, under which a pot sat to catch water.

The kitchen had its problems to be sure. Still, it was nowhere near as bad as the planet.

Garak returned with an armload of books which were, unsurprisingly, covered in dust. As he placed them in the crate Julian remarked, “I see you’ve started your own cultural preservation project already.”

“Electronic reading devices run out of power. Printed volumes do not, and provide excellent entertainment during storms.” He left the room and returned with a datarod case. “I have nevertheless retained any datarods I happened across.”

Right. Happened across. Knowing Garak he probably went out of his way to find them.

The rest of the crate was filled with seven bottles of kanar (“An excellent vintage, it would be a shame to waste it”), a small statue (“The original was destroyed, of course, so we’ll have to make do with a scale replica”), three different brain teasers (“All quite classic”), and two reproduction paintings (“The previous residents of this home had unoriginal taste in art. Just as well, I suppose.”)

Garak slung an empty bag over his shoulders and lifted his crate. “And now, Doctor, I must ask your indulgence while I embark on a final errand.”

Julian didn’t bother to ask what the errand was, since he’d only get a lie or a vague response anyway. Instead he inquired, “How far?”

“Four houses down.”

“Alright.”

Garak led the way down the street, into an unlocked house, downstairs into the basement. “I discovered this several weeks ago. At the time there seemed no use for it.”

“Does that mean I’m about to learn what we’re doing here?”

“What do you see, Doctor?”

Really? A lesson in… whatever Garak was trying to get across… _now?_ “A basement, of course. Empty apart from what appears to be an antique replicator.”

“And?”

“Dusty footprints suggesting it’s been visited recently.”

“Yes, but you already knew that. Now, why would anyone keep such an obviously dilapidated replicator?”

“They’re a collector? They hope to restore it to its former glory?”

“Or?”

“Emotional attachment of some kind?”

Garak huffed in frustration. “Not among Cardassians.”

“It might have useful parts?”

Exasperation in his tone, Garak said, “You’re only thinking about the replicator.”

“You asked me about it.”

“No, I asked you why anyone would keep it. You’ve failed to consider the reason might have nothing to do with the replicator itself.”

“Alright then.” Julian considered why someone would keep around a piece of junk they didn’t want. “It’s likely to be dismissed as nothing of interest.”

“Just so. Once you realize this possibility, the rest is simple.” Garak removed the front face of the replicator, found a switch of some kind, and removed another layer to reveal a safe. “This otherwise useless replicator was placed around the safe as additional protection.”

“Clever.”

“Isn’t it?” Garak input a complex code. “I’ll spare you the tedious explanation of how I gained access to the safe.”

“More like you don’t want to tell me.”

“And now you will understand why we are here.”

That much was immediately apparent. The safe contained a large stash of latinum. Somebody’s life savings, most likely. “Yes, of course.”

“I had no use for it when I first came across it,” said Garak, loading the bars into his bag. “However, from the station I will be able to put it to good use. I’m sure there will be enough for two large solar generators, perhaps a small replicator if I’m fortunate. Many of the aid ships stop at the station, do they not?”

“They do.”

Satisfied, Garak pulled a second bag from the first and placed nineteen bricks inside. “Then whoever collected this latinum will yet serve the Cardassian people.”

Yes, nearly anywhere in what remained of the Union generators and a replicator would be very welcome indeed. Refugees from Cardassia Prime were overwhelming existing infrastructure everywhere they went, though Julian thought their hosts deserved credit for welcoming the refugees by the tens of millions.

Julian grabbed one of the bags, slung it over his shoulder, and asked, “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Bashir to _Murrumbidgee._ Initiate transport.”

The filtered air was a relief. Julian reckoned that anyone on Cardassia would be developing respiratory problems by now and resolved to treat Garak as soon as he could get the man into his infirmary. Refugee applicants were required to submit to physicals, which Garak could be relied upon to delay as long as possible if for no other reason than principle, so sooner or later the stubborn man would be forced to set foot in the infirmary.

Garak, meanwhile, set down his crate, peered around the otherwise empty runabout, and remarked, “I see you decided to spend your day off retrieving me.”

“I needed a change of scenery and my new holoprogram hasn’t arrived yet.”

Garak raised an eyeridge but sat without further comment while Julian laid in a course to DS9. He remained silent for a couple of minutes, a pensive quiet.

Finally Julian broke the silence. “I believe I’ll have some soup for lunch. Would you care to join me?” Frequent, small meals would be best for Garak at this point, and he had always been fond of soup so that seemed an excellent place to start.

It was a touch worrisome that Garak replied, “I’ll have whatever you are, Doctor.” Usually he made a point of disagreeing with Julian’s meal choices, excepting red leaf tea of course. This also left Julian with a small dilemma. Should he replicate one of Garak’s preferred Cardassian soups, or would a reminder of the homeworld he was leaving behind be unwelcome? Julian hedged his bets by selecting Betazoid rahamana soup and red leaf tea. If nothing else the rahamana soup was loaded with nutritious vegetables and a good serving of protein besides.

“Thank you,” said Garak, and he was hungry enough to eat his soup at what was for him a fast pace. It still took him twice as long as Julian to finish and move to his tea, when he gave Julian a critical eye. “Is it just me you’re trying to save?”

Julian shook his head. “I’ve been watching my replicator rations and donating as many as possible to the station’s relief effort.”

“The station has a relief effort?”

“Yes.” Not one that received as many donations as Julian thought it should. Still, every box of food and supplies sent out meant a great deal to the recipients.

“You are a peculiar assemblage of species, offering aid to a vanquished enemy. But I shouldn’t complain, as it is currently benefitting Cardassians.”

Julian wanted to say that he was sorry, both for the horrors Cardassia and Garak had endured and for the Federation’s failure to assist further; that he was glad Garak wasn’t giving up on his own life; that he wanted to offer hope but didn’t want to appear insensitive; that part of him was selfishly glad Garak of all people had managed to survive the last months and get asylum. Before he could try to explain even one, Garak gave him a slight smile. “I know, Doctor.”

“Yes,” said Julian, “I suppose you do.”

They finished their tea in introspective silence.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm obviously not a fan of the Julian/Ezri 'ship, for reasons touched upon in the story, but that's not the reason I delved into it. I also wanted to suggest that though Julian may not realize it part of his motivation here is that he misses his friends.
> 
> If you're curious the Murrumbidgee River is Australia's second longest.


End file.
